


Mushroom Risotto

by MDCBD



Series: Stephen Strange 2019 Bingo [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cooking, Daydreaming, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDCBD/pseuds/MDCBD
Summary: The thing is, Strange wasn't only good at making food -and he really was-, but watching him cook was very entertaining. Wong didn't indulge in much things in his life, he liked his books, his music and food. And Strange was good at making food, so it was really no surprise that Wong liked to watch him cook.





	Mushroom Risotto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lumeha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeha/gifts).



> [Fill for the Stephen Strange 2019 Bingo Square _'Praise'_.](https://mdcbd.tumblr.com/post/185298175202/fill-for-the-mind-reading-prompt-chapters)
> 
> Somehow my friend Lumeha (to who I offer this) and I went from making incorrect Strong quotes to talking about Stephen's cooking skills and I said that he probably knew how to cook because he couldn't only eat take-out during Med school (terrible for someone's health) and here we are.
> 
> Enjoy the meal.

"Well, we're out of chicken," Strange said out of the blue, closing the fridge with various ingredients in his arms. He put them on the counter next to a chopping table after rinsing the vegetables and started looking around, probably for a knife.

"Why are you telling me this?" Wong asked, he was sitting on a high chair, studying the man's back as he moved around.

Strange looked at him intently with something like a smile on his face, "I think you'd prefer this recipe with chicken." He waved a spatula around like it was a wand and he was an overgrown kitchen fairy.

Which he was, as far as Wong was concerned, when it came to cooking.

Strange turned around and started opening a white wine bottle, which Wong knew he bought himself because there was no alcohol in the New York Sanctum, nor in any other, or even Kamar-Taj. If Wong didn't know it was reserved exclusively for cooking, he would've probably frowned about its presence here.

Alcohol wasn't prohibited, but strongly looked down at as it could be a distraction, and distractions were dangerous with the lives they were living.

The loud pop of the bottle got him back to his silent contemplation. Wong had been quite surprised when he had first seen Strange cooking, he didn't know why, but he had imagined that the man would be one of those person who could barely make food to survive. But Strange had just stared at him from where he was standing at the doorstep, raised his eyebrows, put some food into a plate and offered him to taste what he'd made with an expectant look.

Wong had really liked it. Not that he told him, but the knowing glint in Strange's eyes told him that he knew anyway.

The thing is, Strange wasn't only good at making food -and he really was-, but watching him cook was very entertaining. Wong didn't indulge in much things in his life, he liked his books, his music and food. And Strange was good at making food, so it was really no surprise that Wong liked to watch him cook.

And if Strange had started to prepare a little bit more than for one person when Wong came to the New York Sanctum, then there was no one to tell about it.

Strange was now chopping mushrooms, his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He never cooked in his sorcerer attire now that he knew how to conjure up his clothes, so it was like watching an entirely different person from the arrogant master Wong is most familiar with. Had he been someone else, an acquaintance from before Kamar-Taj perhaps, he could've even dared to say that it was like looking at an image of the past, if you overlooked the goatee.

Strange's hands, always trembling, were making the process probably a bit slower than how it could have been, but his movements still had that mesmerizing effect that the quiet and assured gestures of an accomplished cook possessed. Wong like to watch them in action, and try to guess what he was making. It was becoming some sort of pass time.

While he was cutting garlic, Strange put a pan on the fire, mindful of how he was grabbing it, and put some butter inside. A pleasant smell immediately invaded the kitchen, and Wong's mouth watered against his will.

It was nice, really, almost like mediation. The small chops of Strange's knife on the ingredients, the cracklings of the mushrooms on the pan, Wong thought that he could almost fall asleep like that, but he felt compelled to watch until the end; in his mind, the evolutionary process was as important of the result, and Strange was at the center of the scenery, with his quiet pleasure of cooking, and perhaps at still being talented with something involving his hands.

Strange finally took the open bottle of white wine and gazed at him with a curious look, rising it a little in the air. Wong nodded without a word, and he received a pleased smile for his answer, not like the ones he got whenever the sorcerer was up to mayhem or had done what he considered to be a good joke, but one that came from simply being able to indulge oneself into something you liked without any problem, from the simple joy of performing something you were good at, without interruption. He had seen this smile on other people, he sometimes saw it on Strange, but it was more often that he saw it in the kitchen. Strange poured some wine into the pan, and leaned back against the counter after closing the bottle again; and the smile was gone, replaced by a content and focused expression.

While he was staring at the pan, occasionally stirring the mushrooms, garlic, parsley and wine, Wong wondered where and why had the man learned to cook for himself. Before Wong had started to invite himself (with Strange's implicit consent) to dinner on occasion, he had never seen any food leftovers in the fridge when he fetched himself something to drink. So the man was probably used to make food for one person, and often with that, he had guessed.

Wong didn't know much about the man's past. He knew that he was a doctor, with how often he insisted to be called Doctor Strange instead of Master Strange (you could hear the capital letters when he said it), and that he hurt his hands and came to Kamar-Taj to get healed, but decided to stay in the end, like others had before him. Wong hadn't try to get to know him more, as he was a reserved man himself, and valued his privacy, but maybe that one part of his past wasn't so private to ask about, and, he had to admit, he was curious.

He spoke up when Strange was busy putting his cooked mushrooms into a container, probably for later use, "where did you learn to cook?"

Strange paused for a second, but not for long, as the pan was heavy and he probably couldn't hold on it for long. He put it in the sink and got out a sauté pan that Wong didn't even know they had (maybe he had bought it) and a pot.

"When I was in medical school," Strange started explaining. He filled the pot with water and used a pestle to ram vegetable broth cubes. It occurred to Wong that it was probably because he couldn't dilute them with his hands. "I couldn't spend all those years eating take-out, it would've been terrible for my health." Strange picked up olive oil and put some of it into the new pan, but didn't lit it up right away. While he was slowly closing the bottle, he glanced up at Wong, who was attentively watching everything he was doing. "My roommate wasn't any better at cooking than I, so I decided that I could only count on myself and started learning how to cook. It proved to be very useful as years went by, so I never lost the skill."

"I see," he replied. Though clearly, Strange's skill went beyond 'I learned cooking because I didn't have a choice', it was obvious in the way he strided around and handled the ingredients like he had grown them himself. Perhaps there was more to it than what Strange was telling, or perhaps he was just always good at everything he was doing. At least, he always tried, from what Wong had seen so far, but it wasn't his place to ask, and he was satisfied with the answer he'd gotten.

The sound of the fridge opening again preceded Strange talking up once more, "you don't believe me?" The question was simple, and he didn't sound irritated or mocking, just curious.

"I do," Wong justified, "but you just seem awfully good at it, and that surprised me at first."

Strange paused, an onion in his hand. He turned toward him slowly, staring at him with an almost incredulous expression, which made Wong frown. Had he said something wrong?

"Wong," he spoke, a grin etching itself onto his face, "was that a praise I just heard?"

Wong groaned. Strange's smile became impossibly bigger.

* * *

"So it was a mushroom risotto," Wong asserted while putting the plates on the table.

"Of course—" Strange added the last of the mushroom preparation to the cooking rice into the sauté pan, then some parmesan cheese— "what did you expect?"

"I didn't expect anything special, I was just trying to guess," Wong replied. Once the cutlery was laid and everything was ready, he turned to Strange, who was now staring at the finished risotto. It really smelled good. "What's wrong? Did you forget to put something?"

"No, everything is finished."

A second passed, then understanding flooded his mind. Without a word, he stepped up to Strange and took the pan from in front of him, then proceeded to serve them both. Strange sent him a thankful look, then added more cheese to their plate, and they sat together.

He could've levitated the pan himself, but something told Wong that if he didn't use magic at any moment of the preparation, even to open the wine bottle (which must've been hard with his hands), then he probably didn't want to start now.

* * *

That the meal was delicious went without saying, as evidently, and knowingly, Strange was an experienced cook. Wong did not bite back his praise this time, and Strang— Stephen's proud beam was worth it, if he would allow himself to think that way.

Of course, it also assured him he would get more delicious food in the future.


End file.
